Sporked
by firefox b
Summary: There are perhaps worse things to be transformed into than an eating utensil, but not many.- Who could help someone with such an affliction? Perhaps Dr. Vindaloo, who has seen as bad and worse. Based on my actual experience and anxieties after eating part of a plastic fork...


Since all of the regular silverware was dirty and in the dishwasher, Cooper was compelled to use a plastic fork to eat his luncheon of ramen noodles. A college student of limited means, Cooper practically lived on such noodles, which were cheap and kept away the hunger pains.

Twirling his noodles around his fork, Cooper as he ate his modest meal failed to notice that one of the tines of his fork had broken off, and wrapped tightly by noodles around the remainder of his utensil, Cooper ingested the fork tine without even knowing it. He consumed the rest of his meal, not bothering to notice the broken fork until it and the empty noodle tray were all that remained.

It was only then that Cooper regarded his plastic fork, and saw that one of the tines was missing! He scraped around the broken fragments of noodles at the bottom of his tray in search of it, but found nothing! The realization then dawned on Cooper that he had _eaten part of his fork!_ This booted Cooper 's anxiety, a powerful current which always ran below his psychic surface, into high gear.

Cooper immediately began to feel ill over the thought that he had consumed the indigestible, and imagined all kinds of dire outcomes to this fact. He considered it likely that the fork tine would lodge in his small intestine, there to create an obstruction which would necessitate emergency surgery, that was if his bowel didn't simply rupture and cause him to die from septic shock. He could only imagine the pain that such would involve, to say nothing of the postmortem embarrassment._ "The fool ate his fork, and didn't even know it!,"_ his friends would be likely to say.

For the rest of the day, Cooper could barely keep his mind on anything other than his fork consumption. He attuned his senses to the smallest bodily sensation, convinced that every twinge foretold his imminent doom. Cooper wracked his brain; had not he read that animals and children routinely ate and harmlessly passed indigestible materials, things such as coins and marbles? Did not the philosopher say that "this too shall pass?" Amused by this thought, Cooper managed to calm his troubled nerves, and made it through the day.

Cooler awoke the next morning feeling unremarkable; at least he had not punctuated his bowel during the night. Staggering to his bathroom, Cooper regarded his visage in the mirror. Not one of the beautiful people, Cooper knew that he would have to do extensive renovation to that face simply to avoid scaring dogs and small children. The hair alone was ghastly, a hideous Medusa-like mess. Cooper ran his fingers despairingly through his thick locks...

...and felt bumps of some sort on the top of his head! Cooper ran his fingers through his hair, and found that there were exactly four bumps in an even line extending from the crown of his head, swellings that were actually more like projections! Feeling his panic rising, Cooper separated his hair away from the scalp eruptions, and found that they were skin-covered, equally spaced apart, and appeared to be forming into points! His panic now raging in him like a living animal, Cooper swept his hair back over the hard projections and dressed hastily. He had to find someone to look at these alien growths on his head, and tell him what was going on.

Fortunately there was the campus infirmary, where a student like himself might see a physician on short notice. The physician himself was short, a diminutive Indian gentleman with bushy eyebrows and an equally overflowing mustache named Dr. Vindaloo. As Cooper entered the infirmary office, he was greeted by the exotic scent of incense and Indian music and was ushered into the presence of Dr. Vindaloo.

The unusual but genial doctor greeted Cooper cheerily, putting down a large lollipop that he was licking to examine the young man's head. He then seemed to enter a state of deep concentration or perhaps meditation for a few moments before addressing Cooper.

"My boy, your condition is most unusual, very strange indeed!," the doctor finally spoke. "But by my astonishing powers of deduction, I have determined that the fork which you have partially ingested has caused your DNA to re-write itself to incorporate more of that utensil's nature," he explained.

"What exactly are you saying?," questioned Cooper.

"It would seem that you are gradually becoming more like a fork, or more specifically, a spork, that convenient combination of a fork and a spoon. This would presumably represent additional genetic mutation occurring."

"Surely you must be joking," said Cooper incredulously.

"By Vishnu, I do not joke," replied Dr. Vindaloo. "And please do not call me Shirley," he requested in perfect English with an Indian accent.

"What treatments are available for this condition?," asked Cooper.

"Presently, there are none," answered Dr. Vindaloo, "although research into 'dirty stinking dog food' offers promise for the future. I would suggest that presently you learn to accept and adjust to your condition, together with the possible advantages and capabilities that may accompany it," he advised. Dr. Vindaloo then returned his attentions to his lollipop as Cooper departed the infirmary.

Feeling stunned and numb, Cooper walked slowly back towards his student apartment, a feeling of unreality clouding his senses. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, feeling the unmistakable tines there, their length appearing to be growing. 'I'm becoming a freak,' he thought, 'some despicable kind of human eating utensil,' he bemoaned.

It was then as he walked along feeling sorry for himself that Cooper heard the unmistakable sounds of conflict and a woman crying for help. Accelerating his pace, Cooper rounded a wall of hedges and discovered a robbery in progress; some punk was trying to relieve a campus coed of her pocketbook!

"Hey, leave her alone!," shouted Cooper, running to assist but discovering to his despair that the assailant was brandishing a knife. He grappled with the man's knife hand, determined that the blade not be embedded in his flesh. As they struggled, the prongs extending from Cooper's head raked against the assailant's face, startling him and causing him to momentarily relax his grip on the knife sufficiently for Cooper to wrench it from his grip. Seeing that Cooper was now the one armed caused the punk to loose his enthusiasm for further confrontation, and he fled.

"How did you do that?," marveled the coed.

"I guess you might say that I _sporked_ him," offered Cooper shyly.

And that, good reader, is the story of how the world's most unlikely suoerhero came to be. In the days to come, his heroic deeds would be great and many, the stuff of legends and an inspiration for many a young child...


End file.
